


the echoing halls

by ohwickedsoul



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Arranged Marriage, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26736265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohwickedsoul/pseuds/ohwickedsoul
Summary: Sakusa’s shoulders stiffen. “You’re the new Persephone,” he says.“I’ve always been more partial to Kore,” Atsumu says, fox grin on his face.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 99
Kudos: 643
Collections: Completed Fics, So beautiful It makes me want to cry, ~SakuAtsu~





	1. Chapter 1

The world is dark, down here. 

It is dark, and shining, and clean, clean in a way that the upper-world, with its trailing vines and thick black mud and yellow dusting of pollen can never be. The world is smooth stone and glittering diamonds and deep shadows, yes, but the walls are slick and shining with reflected light. 

This is the dark world, the echoing halls of the god of the lower-world. This is his domain, with its deep caves and cool pools of water. He may rule over the rest of this place, with its caverns of torture and galleries of pain and whatever else they have seen fit to brush off onto him, placing these distasteful things out of sight and out of mind. 

Like him. 

Sakusa walks the stone halls of his domain, bare feet against a floor that does not dare to gather dust in the corners, his purple robes- the color of royalty, wine-dark as Homer’s sea- trail behind him. 

He fits well in these halls, with his too-pale skin and his too-dark hair. Looks like the wraiths that flit amongst the lower-world, like the ghosts that walk the Mourning Fields with his black eyes. 

His family may love him, in a distracted sort of way, but it was never a question that he would be the one sent below to rule over the Underworld and its dead. 

Haides is merely a title, after all. 

Said family- bright and abstract and preoccupied- is waiting for him, up above. Sakusa has not yet left his kingdom for Olympus yet, a little fearful to abandon these familiar halls for something so- crowded. 

“It’ll be fine,” Komori says from beside him. Komori appears suddenly, but Sakusa is used to these antics and doesn’t blink.

Sakusa slants a glance at him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’re making Cerberus restless with your worry,” Komori says calmly. His cousin is not one to be dissuaded by his moods. “Go. Have fun. Come back. Tell Kageyama I say hello.”

Sakusa’s face doesn’t quite twist at that, but it comes very close. Komori grins. “The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back, m’lord cousin.” He says. He doesn’t go so far as to nudge Sakusa’s elbow, but it’s clear he’s thinking about it, which is almost as bad. 

“Fine,” Sakusa says, drawing the trappings of his rank around him. “You’re in charge while I’m gone.” 

“I’ll call Hinata and let him know you’re ready to go,” Komori says, and folds his hands in his robes.

* * *

Sakusa genuinely likes Hinata. His hair is bright even in the dark places of the underground, and he has no fear of his kingdom or the people in it. When he drops him off at the steps of Olympus, Hinata’s smile eases his steps into the cavernous plateia. 

Sakusa doesn’t huddle near the edge. That’s not befitting his station, or the crown that weighs heavy on his head. He just sort of…slinks around. Finds corners with friendly shadows to hide in so he doesn’t have to deal with too friendly people. 

“Sakusa!” Like that. Like Bokuto. 

“Bokuto,” Sakusa nods at the man, his eyes sharp and gold as ever even as he nearly bounces over to him. Akaashi follows in his step, neat and dark and beautiful in a way that Sakusa can appreciate- like agate, or geodes, something broken open and unexpected. 

“We’re happy to have you here,” Akaashi says in their quiet voice, and it’s like velvet against Sakusa’s skin. He ignores it however, and gives Akaashi a respectful nod. Bokuto throws an arm around Sakusa’s shoulders, and he resists the urge to shudder. 

“It’s been a while, Omi-omi,” Bokuto says. His fingertips trail static in their way, and the little hairs on Sakusa’s arms and back of his neck begin to rise. 

Sakusa extricates himself with a rapidity not quite decorous, but Bokuto takes it with grace, turning and wrapping that arm around Akaashi’s waist. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a reason to all gather,” Sakusa says. He can be diplomatic, if he wants. 

“We had to send Komori something real nice to get him to drag you out,” Bokuto says cheerfully. Bokuto bypasses diplomacy with honesty like a lightning strike. Sakusa can feel a headache coming on, just behind his eyes. 

“How’s the underworld?” Akaashi says, their mouth quirking up at the corner. 

“Filled with diamonds and the dead,” Sakusa says, just as dryly. 

“It’s nice to know that some things do not change,” Akaashi says, and then turns to Bokuto. “Have you told him yet?”

Bokuto’s hand, on Akaashi’s waist, has dipped beneath the edge of their chiton, and he drags it up to a place of more propriety. “Ah,” he says, somewhat guiltily. “Told him what, Akaashi?”

Akaashi dismisses him, reprimand delivered, and addresses Sakusa. “We have new guests, tonight.”

“Do we?” Sakusa says, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a change.” 

“Well, everyone grows up sometime,” Akaashi says, and favors Sakusa with a smile like a secret. 

“Who are they?” Sakusa’s interest is peaked despite himself, and Bokuto grins at him, sort of slyly.

Which is. Worrying. Sakusa’s headache is looking more and more likely.

“Ah, I figure you’ll know,” Bokuto says. “We’ll see you later, Omi-omi,” and the pair swans off. Sakusa contemplates their retreating backs. Bokuto’s a silver star to Akaashi’s night- they’re a well matched pair, though he can’t fathom how they, ah, work. Sakusa’s never put much stock into the trope of “opposites attracting.”

“Man, they’re real pretty, aren’t they?” Sakusa hears from his shoulder, and turns, a little flabbergasted anyone would talk about Akaashi so coarsely. He comes face to face with a bright smile belying eyes of absolute stone, and thinks, 

_Who-_

The smile tilts, goes lascivious and sort of- warm. Sakusa can’t quite describe it. If the smile is sunlight on the fields, the eyes above it are the rocks that break the plow. Said eyes- dark, smoky quartz, well cut- flick to the diadem crowning Sakusa’s dark curls. 

“That’s a nice piece,” the stranger says. “How come they let you wear it?”

Sakusa takes a step back, looks this stranger up and down. Above the eyes and the smile is a sheaf of hair like wheat, gold and sunlight. Below is an athlete’s body, broad shouldered and thick finger tips. His chiton is a snowy white, and the cuffs on his wrist are solid pieces- more like shackles than bracelets. 

When Sakusa’s eyes drop down to these bracelets, the man moves. Now he stands contrapposto, but there’s something false about it- like it’s calculated to show him to best advantage. It works, Sakusa admits, but it isn’t true. When Sakusa looks at his face again, that warm smile is gone, and the full mouth is flat and merciless. 

The expression only lasts a second, as the stranger realizes Sakusa’s attention is back on his face, and then that lazy sunlight smile is back like it never left. “You don’t talk much, huh?” The stranger says, smile growing wider. 

“That’s been said before,” Sakusa says, and the stranger’s eyebrows go up at the coolness of tone. 

“No need to act like someone’s _died_ ,” the stranger says. “I’m not Haides.”

Sakusa is startled into a half smile at that. “I know,” he says. “Who are you, then?”

The man smiles, pleased. Maybe he’s been wanting this question to be asked. “Atsumu Miya,” he says. 

Sakusa’s shoulder stiffens. “You’re the new Persephone,” he says. 

“I’ve always been more partial to Kore,” Atsumu says, fox grin on his face. 

“I didn’t realize-“ Sakusa says, and stops himself. The throbbing behind his eyes comes to full throttle. You’d think gods, or the closest thing to it, whatever they are or aren’t, wouldn’t get headaches but-

“Not quite Haides, but something like it,” Atsumu says, and his eyes are locked on Sakusa. 

“Yes,” Sakusa says, and turns away. “Unfortunately.”

“Yer not gonna introduce yourself?” Atsumu says. Sakusa takes a step, pauses. 

“No,” he says tersely. “I don’t think I will.” He walks off then, Atsumu’s jasper- tigereye- feldspar eyes boring into his back. 

He stalks the edge of the square, can feel the shadows gathering in the folds of his cloak too heavily, can feel the drag of smoke on the edge of his cloak, but he is angry, angry in a way he has not been in- some time. 

He finally sees Ushijima, talking to that ridiculous redhead of his, and doesn’t quite storm over. Sakusa does, however, growl in his ear, “Come with me, now, Wakatoshi.”

Ushijima looks at him, gold eyes steady, and Sakusa’s heart pangs traitorously. Ushijima nods then, nods at Tendou, who is looking more ghoulishly delighted than any denizen of Sakusa’s domain has ever managed. Then he follows Sakusa out of the plaza, into the warren of alleys and side streets that only exist when they need to be pulled into existence. 

In this liminal space, rich-haired Ushijima’s colors becomes muted, grounded, but his eyes are still gold. “What do you need, Kiyoomi?” He says, voice like an earthquake. 

“That’s the new Kore?” Sakusa says, folding his arms tight across his chest, hating that he’s using the name. “The new Proserpine?” 

“Atsumu is new, yes,” Ushijima says. “But I believe he holds himself and others to a high standard.” 

“He’s awful,” Sakusa says. 

“Yes,” Ushijima says, and for a moment, he is awful too. “He is.”

Sakusa matches his stare. “You’re sure?” Sakusa says. He is not sure enough in his statement. He is- young, compared to the rest of them. The roles change, yes, but they change infrequently. It has been many years since Sakusa assumed the mantle of Haides, but it has been much longer than that since Ushijima has been Demeter. 

“I am sure,” Ushijima says. And if he is- that is the end of it, isn’t it. 

Sakusa takes his leave of Ushijima with a respectful nod, knowing Ushijima is going to return to Tendou’s wine stained fingertips. He doesn’t want to bother Hinata to go home- it’s rude enough that he’s leaving already, and he can see Kageyama’s dark head bent to speak to some flash of orange. 

“You look sad, Kiyoomi,” a voice says. When he looks up, Suga’s smiling at him. 

“Where’s your better half?” Sakusa asks. Rude. Very rude.

“Depends on who you’re asking about,” Suga says cheerfully. “Kiyoko or Daichi?”

Suga wears the mantle of Apollo lightly, keeps Helios and Artemis close to him at all times, and people tend to forget his bright smile is sharp as any blade. 

When he doesn’t answer, Suga’s mouth softens. “You saw the new ones, huh?” 

“There’s more than one?” Sakusa asks bitterly. 

“Twins,” Suga confirms, and Sakusa’s head comes up. 

“What?”

“I know,” Suga says, eyes bright with gossip. “And here we were worried we were being replaced,” he says, voice light, but now that Sakusa’s looking at him, he can see the relief in the slump of his shoulders, in the empty wine glass in his hand. 

“There hasn’t been a Proserpine for as long as I’ve held the lower-world,” Sakusa says instead, quiet and a bit- angry. Do they think he needs a partner? Do they think he needs _help?_

“That is a tricky one,” Suga says. “What will you do?”

“Ignore it,” Sakusa says. “I don’t need a flower maiden below ground.”

“Where are they?” Suga says, standing on tip toe. “I’d like to see them.”

“See who?” the voice makes Sakusa’s spine stiffen, and Suga raises his eyebrows. 

“You must be Persephone,” Suga says, sunny and bright again. 

“Atsumu,” the man says, leaning forward to clasp forearms with Suga.

“I’m Suga- the Apollo around these parts,” he says, smiling kind at Atsumu. 

“Man, I bet you were worried when Osamu’n’I came marchin’ in,” Atsumu says. “Twins can’t be a good look in yer world.”

Suga’s eyebrow goes up. “I should say not.” 

“Ya know, you never introduced yerself earlier.” Atsumu says, turning to Kiyoomi. “Who is this guy? Some sort of sad Muse or something?” 

Suga is startled into a laugh, a real one, and Sakusa’s face goes tight and pinched. The headache is back.

“You weren’t joking?” Sakusa says. 

“Bout what?” Atsumu asks, guileless. 

“May I have the pleasure?” Suga says, the smile on his face irrepressible. “Atsumu, Persephone-Kore, may I introduce you to our beloved king of the dark world, Haides?” 

Atsumu starts. It’s small, a bare jerk, a twitch of the half lidded eyes, but it’s enough that Sakusa’s eyes catch it. “Yer Hades?” Atsumu says, and even if his face is a near perfect mask, his voice betrays his shock. 

“Shall I leave you to get to know one another?” Suga asks, conspiratorial. He’s delighted though, Sakusa can see it in the tilt of his mouth and the hidden laugh in his voice. 

“No,” Sakusa says. “I should think not. I’ll be taking my leave.”

“Sakusa-“ Suga says, still laughing, half disapproving-

“Yer leaving? You know we’re basically married, right?” Atsumu’s strident voice pings right into the throbbing headache now in full bloom in Sakusa’s head, and he grits his teeth. 

He doesn’t deign to answer, just spins on his heel and knows that there’s too many trailing shadows and ghosts in the hem of his cloak to be polite. Hears Atsumu’s whining, “Hey!” behind him. 

He looms up behind Hinata, catches Kageyama’s eyes first. Kageyama puts an automatic hand on the hilt of sword, realizes he’s not carrying it at a party. “Hinata,” Sakusa says. “I’m going to be taking my leave- do you have a way-“

“I can take you, Kiyoomi!” Hinata says, and he looks concerned. “Is everything alright-“

“I don’t want to- inconvenience you,” Sakusa says through gritted teeth. Kageyama watches him with cold blue eyes. “I just need a path.”

“I can do that too,” Hinata says, and in his hands there’s a glittering ball of thread. When he dashes it on the ground, exuberant to the last, it melts in till the cracks in the marble look like stars. 

“That should get you down to an end of the earth you recognize,” Hinata says, cheerful. 

Sakusa fights the urge to close his eyes. “And you couldn’t have done that- outside?” He asks. 

Hinata’s eyes widen. “Oh, shoot, I didn’t think about it, should I-“

There’s a blonde head, like wheat- like pyrite- making its way through the crowd and Sakusa- panics. 

“Fine,” he says. “It’s fine.”

He hates having to do this in front of so many people- his family, friends, if he’s being honest, which is- disconcerting. But the prospect of facing some arrogant new god who thinks he’s got the right to ask anything of Sakusa, of his domain, of the people in it, is. Infuriating. 

So Sakusa closes his eyes against the bright headache behind his eyes, and cracks open the earth with a sharp push downward, palm-down and fingers wide. 

All along the glittery star lines Hinata built, the marble cracks, and a passage to the underworld opens up. When Sakusa looks up, the room is quiet, and he is the center of so much attention. 

Bokuto and Akaashi look at him with concern, and Suga’s whispering in Daichi’s ear, one hand wrapped around his golden arm. Atsumu, however, is on the edge of the crowd, looking at Sakusa. His eyes are dark and his mouth is flat, ticked down at one corner.

Sakusa’s face draws into a sneer despite himself, and he leaves without a word.

* * *

Komori is not impressed, to say the least. 

“Why would you do that!” He says- _still_ saying. It’s been weeks since the incident at the plateia of Olympus. Sakusa’s in the throne room, head in his hand. Komori’s pacing the dark floor, fretting again. “Sakusa, if you can give me a straight answer, I-“

“I don’t know,” Sakusa snaps. Again. “I don’t like him. I do not need some flower-maiden with a gross sense of their own importance showing up in the underworld for a _jaunt_ , because they think they _should_ , when all they’ll do is become bored of the dark and the dank and the ghosts that are _mine_ ,” he hisses. 

Komori blinks at him. “Goodness. I haven’t seen you go full Haides mode in quite some time.”

Sakusa frowns at him, and then looks at his hand. His hand is whiter than normal, glowing faintly neon green. When he stands, the shadows that cling to his cloak scream softly in the back of his mind. He knows without looking that his eyes are probably lit up with the same neon green fire, that the Furies will be headed his way soon, out of curiosity and hunger. 

The trappings of Hades can be so _tedious_.

Komori is looking at him with an expression his face that Sakusa decidedly does not like, however. “Maybe this’ll be good for you,” he says. “It usually takes so much to get you that worked up that you pull out all the fire and damned souls in your wake,” he muses. 

Sakusa narrows his eyes. “Don’t you have death to minister to?” He snips. 

Komori smiles at him, his death’s head smile- and Thanatos sweeps into a low, mocking bow and then leaves the court room. Sakusa sits down with a sigh. With any luck, Atsumu will be content to play in the fields with Ushijima and Tendou and leave him in peace down below, and they won’t have to see each other except at very important functions at Olympus. 

The seasons have gone on without a Persephone for this long, Sakusa has no doubt they will continue to do so after Atsumu leaves the post. 

The doors bang open. 

Sakusa starts to his feet. 

Atsumu, titled Proserpine-Persephone-Kore, stands in the doorway of the echoing halls of the god of the lower world, and says, “By the _gods_ , ya don’t make it easy to get down here, do ya?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be a one-shot and now i have this entire universe whose reference page is quickly sprawling into a /monster./
> 
> set to be about three chapters right now, but we all know how these things get away from me. 
> 
> if you have questions about how any of this works: yeah, me too, but next chapter should answer some of them. 
> 
> [come find me on twitter, where i'm very active-](https://twitter.com/ohwickedsoul)
> 
> [or on tumblr, if you're into that.](https://ohwickedsoul.tumblr.com/)
> 
> stay safe, stay healthy, be good.


	2. Chapter 2

Sakusa stares. 

Atsumu is still- there, gold head not dulled by the torchlight that keeps the Underworld lit. Indeed, he looks burnished by it, like he’s broken out of the vein of quartz that kept him dull. 

“How did you get here?” Sakusa says, bewildered. 

“I walked,” Atsumu shrugs. It’s then Sakusa notices the dirt on his feet, the wear on his sandals, and the purple round his eyes. 

“The whole way?” Sakusa’s voice, too soft.

Atsumu’s smile, too soft. “The whole way.” 

Sakusa sits back down in his throne slowly. “I see.” 

There’s a secondary bang, and this time Atsumu is the one to startle. Komori darts in, skids a little on the dark floor, and then just- stares. “Um.”

Atsumu waves. It’s annoying, that wave. Lazy and too sure of its welcome. “Hi. I’m the new guy.”

“ _You’re_ the new Persephone?” Komori says. His eyebrows are in his hairline. 

“Guilty as charged.” 

“I thought you were Selene?”

“There’s a new Selene?” Sakusa asks. They both spare him a glance that’s rather discouraging, and then turn back to each other.

“M’brother. Osamu.”

“Twins,” Komori says significantly. “Bet Suga’s happy you ended up where you did.”

Atsumu’s smile is filled with too many teeth. “I’m sure he is.”

“How did you get here?” Sakusa asks again. “Komori, he says he _walked_.”

“Why are ya asking if yer just gonna tell this guy how I got here?” Atsumu says crossly. 

“Security issue,” Komori says, distracted and frowning. “You probably shouldn’t have been able to just pop in like this.”

“It was quite a long walk, I wouldn’t exactly call it _popping in_ ,” Atsumu says scathingly. “I paid my way.”

“Maybe he was able to because of the Persephone title,” Komori says. “Queen of the Underworld might get you a free pass.”

“I beg your _pardon_ ,” Sakusa says at the same time Atsumu goes, 

“I’d rather be a consort than a _queen_ ,” in vaguely disgusted tones. 

They pause, stare at each other. “The dark is no place for flower-maidens,” Sakusa says, staring down at Atsumu from his elevated seat on the dais. 

“I ain’t no maiden,” Atsumu says. “And I’m not scared of the dark.”

Sakusa stands, draws the regalia of his office around him like armor. “That remains to be seen,” he says coldly, and sweeps out of the throne room. 

He doesn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about leaving Atsumu alone in the cavernous throne room, with the dirt of travel still on his feet. He _doesn’t_.

* * *

Komori finds Sakusa later on, tucked away in one of the lowest caves, scratching Cerberus under the chin. 

“That was uncalled for,” Komori says. 

Sakusa’s back is to him, he knows he cannot see the twitch of his mouth as it downturns, but Sakusa is postive Komori knows it anyway. 

“I do not want him here,” Sakusa says evenly. 

“That’s not really up to you,” Komori says. His voice is cold and even. “If you cannot be kind-“

“Death is not kind,” Sakusa says. 

“Well, you’re not death, are you?” Komori snipes right back. “You merely rule over the dead, and the underworld, and the hidden wealth of the earth, Dominus Umbrarum.” He says the old title like an insult, scornful and disappointed. “If you cannot be kind to a new god, then I expect you to do your _job_.”

He leaves then, the sound of feathers rustling accompanying him. Sakusa runs a hand along the down soft ear of Cerberus, and sighs, very quietly. 

Komori is right, unfortunately.

Sakusa is proud, and cautious, and he rules over the clean, cold halls of the dead with an ease he would not be able to summon in the salt-soaked waves or the ever changing sky. That does not mean it was simple That does not mean he should spurn someone asking for help- because that is what Atsumu is doing, in his own way. Even if he is _extraordinarily_ irritating. 

Even if his gaze makes Sakusa uneasy in a way that he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

He did walk the dark, the whole way down.

* * *

It is later still- it is hard to say whether it is night or day. Time slides in the lower-world in a way it does not above, sometimes slick and fast and sometimes catching on a burr, moving like molasses. Either way, it is late, and Sakusa is in his chambers, removing the diadem from his hair. It catches in a black curl and he winces, trying to untangle it from the gold filigree. 

There is a knock. 

Sakusa pauses. 

He knows who it is. 

Diadem still in hand, he crosses the room and opens the door anyway. 

Atsumu stands outside his door, bottle of wine held loosely in his right hand. His eyes flicker for just a moment at the sight of Sakusa, hair loose from its usual band, free from the trappings of office- no purple cloak, the jewelry laid aside. “My lord,” he says, shameless and provoking, and the flicker is gone. 

Sakusa steps silently to the side, and allows Atsumu to enter. His suite consists of several different rooms, and there’s a traditional triclinia in the front room. Sakusa’s bedchamber is just visible through the heavy hanging curtains in the back. Atsumu hesitates for a fraction of a second, eyeing that slice of dimly lit room, and then drapes himself over one of the chaises. 

Sakusa stays standing, and watches. 

“I did bring a gift,” Atsumu says, and hefts the bottle in his hand like Sakusa hadn’t seen it. “From Tendou. Nice guy, little weird though. He hangs around Ushijima a lot, huh?” and Sakusa realizes that he’s babbling, a little, which is- unexpected. 

“Thank you,” Sakusa says, and rescues the bottle from Atsumu’s waving hands before he cracks himself over the head with it. He is very careful to make sure their fingers do not brush, and does not meet Atsumu’s eyes when he does. 

There is a pause while Atsumu watches Sakusa take on the duties of a servant- that is, pouring the wine into stemless glasses and delivering one to Atsumu. 

“Who’dve thought,” Atsumu says, eyes bright over the rim of his glass. “The king of the underworld, serving little old flower-maiden me.” That’s a snide hit at Sakusa’s dismissal earlier. 

“I do not allow servants into my chamber,” Sakusa says, settling himself down into one of the other chaises. It’s far enough away that if Atsumu reached out, he would just barely miss scraping the fabric with his fingers. 

“Now I feel extra special,” Atsumu says. 

Sakusa’s eyes narrow. “I will apologize for my behavior earlier, as it was…unseemly, but do not push your luck, Atsumu.” He says. 

Atsumu holds up his glass in a mocking toast. “Of course, my lord,” he says. Sakusa’s glare grows sharper, and he decidedly does not think about the way Atsumu’s eyes went bright as he said it. 

“Enough,” Sakusa sighs. Sets his glass down on the side table. He wants to pinch the bridge of his nose, wants to kick Atsumu out of his rooms and get some sleep. Wants to extinguish the candle light that’s currently limning Atsumu’s body gold, like the precious metal that he rules over. “I understand you and your brother are new to the thought of godhood.”

When Sakusa says ‘your brother’ Atsumu’s shoulders tighten. Interesting. “That’s one way to put it,” Atsumu says lightly. “We sorta got thrown into the whole thing, ya know?”

That, Sakusa can believe. It happened to him, too. “Yes,” he says. “I know it very well.” 

The wine stains Atsumu’s mouth as he drinks. “We are…” Sakusa starts. “We are not gods, in a way that you may have thought of previously.”

Atsumu snorts. “Yeah, I figured that one out right quick,” he says. 

“You could say that we are figureheads, but that wouldn’t be strictly true. The gods- we inhabit roles, jobs. There is real power and responsibility in your role as,” Sakusa pauses, has to force out the word, “as Persephone.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Atsumu says, and his mouth is as flat as it had been on Olympus. 

“None of us did,” Sakusa’s voice comes out more gently than he means it too. “It’s not a choice, per se. Not by us.”

“So what,” Atsumu says, a little surly now. “I’m supposed to hang out with you for half the year and then summer up there like it’s the fuckin’ Hamptons?”

Sakusa stares at him. “Where did you grow up, exactly?” He says before he can stop himself. 

Atsumu raises an eyebrow. “Classified.”

“No,” Sakusa says, and then shakes his head. “You don’t have to tell me. I apologize for prying.” He has the satisfaction of seeing Atsumu’s brows furrow a little. His mask slides more and more the longer he engages in conversation, showing someone a little more volatile than Sakusa had first thought. 

“We have roles, responsibilities- but our lives are not foretold. There are certain things that must happen,” Sakusa says. “I rule the lower-world, Hinata has certain duties as a herald-“

“Little orange haired guy?” Atsumu interrupts. “I liked him.”

“Hinata also acts as guide of the dead,” Sakusa says. “He’s here quite often. But other things are not so set in stone.” He pauses to take a sip.

“So, what, Zeus isn’t gonna go around and fuck a bunch of people as an animal?”

Sakusa chokes on his wine. “ _Please_ do not let Akaashi hear you say that,” he says, inhaling. “I do not believe you would survive.”

Atsumu pouts. “That’s like, a majority of the myths I grew up with,” he says, flipping a hand. 

“Yes, but Bokuto thinks Akaashi walks on water, so to speak, and has never been unfaithful to my knowledge. Myths do not always end the same way.” Sakusa swallows. “Neither does godhood.”

“What happened to the last Persephone?” Atsumu asks, eyes sharp. 

Sakusa shrugs, a little helplessly. “I do not know. When I was…installed, there wasn’t one.”

“How long have you been Haides?” 

“A long time.”

“So there hasn’t been one of me in a while, huh?” Atsumu muses. He takes a long drink of wine. “Everyone else seemed to know me’n’Osamu were coming- how come you didn’t?”

Sakusa takes another drink of wine. “I rule the lower-world, and for most of the year, I remain here. The goings-on of Olympus are often not known to me.” His mouth twists a little despite himself. “It is also quite…crowded, up there.”

Atsumu laughs at that. “Man, they chose right with you, didn’t they?” 

“They usually do,” Sakusa says, without humor. 

Atsumu bites the corner of his mouth, and Sakusa should put his wine cup down, stop using it as a crutch, because he watches as the blood rushes back as Atsumu releases it. “Who do you think they are?”

This is a question that raises the fine hair on the back of Sakusa’s neck. This is a question he does not like. “I don’t know,” Sakusa says after a moment, the words falling heavy in the quiet of the room. “The originals? Something else?” He shakes his head. “I don’t expect to ever know.”

The room is quiet, mood turned sharply from, if not quite confidential, than conversational, to something heavy. 

“What changed your mind?” Atsumu asks. 

“What?”

“About, ah, dealin’ with me.”

Sakusa looks away, a little embarrassed. “It’s my job. I was…helped greatly by the others when I was first installed, and it would have been unconscionable for me to not do the same.” He looks up at Atsumu then, fixes him with a stare. “But I won’t offer you pity, if that’s what you’re looking for. Help, guidance- but not pity.”

Atsumu grins at him. “I’ve never once asked for pity, thank ya very much.” 

The moment stretches, taffy-like, and something about it makes Sakusa- uncomfortable. Like he’s fallen into a pattern or a rut that will be extraordinarily hard to get out of. 

“What’s your name, anyway?” Atsumu asks, and Sakusa struggles not to gape at him. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Yer first name,” Atsumu says, waving a hand a little impatiently. “I know yer Haides, Moiragetes, Nekron Soter, and all that.”

Sakusa takes in a sharp little breath at the last title. “I haven’t heard that one in- a while,” he says. He’s reeling a little, inside. He hasn’t heard that epithet in-

Sakusa has a sense of double vision then, in a way that he hasn’t in a while. It’s common when you first ascend, to have some sort of genetic memory triggered. So there is Atsumu in front of him, golden haired and heavy lidded, and there is also a woman, young and dark haired and burning-eyed, awful and lovely. 

Sakusa blinks, she disappears, and, still shaken, says, “It’s Kiyoomi. Sakusa Kiyoomi.”

It’s just Atsumu in front of him who says, “Alright then, Omi.”

It takes Sakusa a moment to process and respond. “Don’t call me that.”

“Sure,” Atsumu agrees blithely, and Sakusa knows he’s lying. He stands then, stretches his arms above his head, leaves Sakusa staring up at him, feeling like his world has shifted two degrees to the left. 

Sakusa stands up, follows him to the door. “Have you had,” he asks, unable to stop himself, “the visions yet?”

Atsumu stops with his hand on the door, and looks at him with the same diamond-bright, diamond-hard eyes Sakusa had first noticed. “The double vision stuff?” He says. 

Sakusa nods. 

“Yeah, I’ve had some,” Atsumu says, and does not elaborate. Sakusa doesn’t ask. 

He opens the door in silence, instead, and Atsumu crosses the threshold and then pauses, leans against the frame. “I’m gonna take a chance on this,” he says, calm. 

“On what?” Sakusa says, and he can’t help the way his voice goes sharp and unwelcoming. 

Atsumu gives him the most blatant once-over Sakusa has ever been the recipient of. “You,” he says. “You said the stories aren’t set in stone, right?”

“Yes, but-“

“So I figure maybe Persephone will be the one in pursuit this time,” Atsumu interrupts, fox grin back in full bloom. “Mix it up a little. We’re already married, right? Might as well enjoy it.”

Sakusa stares. “I think it’ll be _fun_ , Omi.”

Sakusa shuts the door in his face. Through the wood, he can hear Atsumu start to laugh, and then walk away. 

Sakusa retreats into the chamber, sits himself down on one of the chaises. He puts his head in his hands. He hasn’t received a vision in years, and the sight of it has shaken him more deeply than he’d like to admit. 

The myths are not foretold, but they’re certainly- influential, and Sakusa has lived his life, and his godhood after, founded on his pride. He doesn’t want to be- influenced into some sort of false partnership. The thought turns his stomach. It’s already some sort of arranged marriage, isn’t that bad enough? But there’s a problem that Sakusa can see in the future, like a looming storm cloud. The problem-

The problem is-

Atsumu is _gold_ , like every precious metal Sakusa has ever coveted. 

The stories are not set in stone, Sakusa _knows_ this. Has watched Bokuto stay faithful in Olympus with Akaashi, has seen Oikawa pursue Iwaizumi, has seen Yachi refuse vows of virginity. 

Many times, however, the myths find a way- whether it’s through accident or happenstance or something not quite either.

And Sakusa would not put it past fate, or fortune or something greater than their semi-godhood, to put something or someone perfectly in his path that Sakusa would actively want. 

Godhood enhances. Not just in power and in dominion, but in self. And even before all this, Sakusa had been a prideful, focused man. 

Sakusa cannot stop himself from analyzing, calculating the flickers of true emotion that show through a mask that would’ve had to be carefully built, re-visiting the way Atsumu had stretched himself out in Sakusa’s private chambers like he was sure he belonged there, the dirt on his feet in the throne room after he made the long, lonely trip to the lower-world. 

Atsumu Miya, Kore, Praxidice, the god who returns to earth- and Sakusa _wants_ him, suddenly and terribly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, staring at my sprawling notes and tables of epithets: this might...be four chapters. 
> 
> i won't know for sure until i write chapter three, but be prepared for that! i hope this chapter doesn't disappoint and some of your questions about the world within this verse have been answered at least in part. 
> 
> [you can find me on twitter, where i'm very active and (warning) often nsfw](https://twitter.com/ohwickedsoul)
> 
> thanks for reading! stay safe, stay healthy, be good.


	3. Chapter 3

Atsumu stays. 

Atsumu had told Sakusa that he was willing to stay, to work, to pursue, and Sakusa- it wasn’t that he didn’t believe him. It was that he almost couldn’t, the thought beyond recognition. Despite him saying so, Sakusa tends to place more weight on tradition and rut that myth becomes to them as gods than his family does. He is aware that this is a failing. But Atsumu does, despite this, and it’s- good. 

Atsumu stays in the lower-world. This in itself Sakusa is inclined to think of as a miracle, and Komori makes no bones about telling him so. 

“You are lucky,” Komori says, shaking his head. “Not many would do so.”

“Be so stubborn?” Sakusa asks dryly. 

“Be willing to work past _your_ bullshit,” Komori corrects. “That awful overly analytical, second-guessing thing you like to do.”

Sakusa frowns. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Komori doesn’t roll his eyes, but Sakusa can feel that he wants to. “Of course you don’t,” he says, patting his shoulder. “Why don’t you go see what your boy-toy’s up to?”

“He’s not a _boy-toy_ -“ Sakusa starts to snap, and then sees the smirk on Komori’s face. 

“I could make a good boy-toy,” Atsumu says, because one of his many infuriating talents is to enter exactly when Sakusa does not need him to. “I’m blonde and very pretty.”

“Your hair is bleached,” Sakusa says flatly. He ignores the pretty part. Based on Atsumu’s widening grin, he picked up on that.

“Not anymore- god-hood does funny things to ya, you know?” Atusmu says. “This shit grows in gold.”

“You’re telling me,” Komori snorts. “Sakusa was always a gangly bastard but I swear he grew three inches when he ascended.”

“Wait, you guys knew each other- before?” Atsumu says. He stumbles over the question a little. Sakusa knows the feeling. It’s hard to talk about. He wanders over to the bottom of the steps leading up to where Sakusa sits on his throne, and Sakusa has to fight not to look at him.

“We’re cousins,” Sakusa says, frowns at Komori. Komori sweeps into a mocking bow. His nod to Atsumu, though much shorter and shallower, seems so much more respectful. 

“That’s crazy,” Atsumu says, watching him go. “Y’all don’t look anything alike. Are there any more relations up there?”

“Not as such,” Sakusa says. “There’s Suga and Kiyoko, but they aren’t actually related. Just twins in name.” 

“He’s a funny guy,” Atsumu says. “‘Samu says Kiyoko’s nice though. Real easy to work with, quiet-like.”

“That sounds like Kiyoko,” Sakusa says. “Have you spoken to your brother recently?”

“Oh, here and there,” Atsumu says, which, along with his quick glance to the side, is extraordinarily suspicious. “Heard something about a party?”

Damn. Sakusa forgets about Osamu for a moment and struggles to restrain a groan. “I would not call it that,” he hedges.

“Equinox, Omi!” Atsumu says. “I feel like you would be all over that.”

“It’s the beginning of the turn,” Sakusa says. “Marks the halfway point of the traditional stay in the Underworld.”

Atsumu wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know about goin’ and hanging out with Ushijima in the fields for six months,” he admits. He finally climbs the steps, drops into the throne beside Sakusa’s. 

Despite himself, something in Sakusa’s chest simultaneously loosens and tightens at the sight of Atsumu’s limbs so carelessly draped over the companion throne. He lounges in the damn thing like he was born there, like it’s a chaise in his bed chamber. 

“I-“ Sakusa starts, and then for a moment there is an over-lay, genetic memory double vision. There is Atsumu, starting to sit up straighter and peer into Sakusa’s face, heavy lidded eyes and broad shoulders. There is also another woman, this one with skin like night, thick braids wound around her head and strung with silver. She sits straight and tall in the throne, her strong jaw outlined by torch light, and there’s a dizzying moment where Atsumu leans _through_ her, and Sakusa has to close his eyes against it. 

“Kiyoomi,” he hears next to him, low and serious. It takes Sakusa another moment to open his eyes, struck anew by how his name sounds in his mouth, and then another to hate himself a little bit for it. When he finally does open his eyes, Atsumu is halfway onto Sakusa’s throne, one hand outstretched like he was going to take Sakusa by the shoulder, or touch his face. 

Sakusa doesn’t quite flinch away from it, but Atsumu sees it, sees everything, and sits back with his eyes shuttering. “One of those memories?” He asks, his voice very neutral. 

“Yes,” Sakusa says, his voice rougher than he means it to. Atsumu is still closed off and away, throwing back up the mask he switches on and off so easily, and Sakusa finds himself disliking it. “You’re usually a woman,” he says, trying to get the mask off. 

He succeeds. Atsumu’s eyes widen and he barks out a laugh, harsh and a little ugly and real. “Am I pretty, Omi?” He says, leans his cheek on one hand, bats his eyelashes. 

Sakusa’s mouth embarrassingly runs dry at that. He is saved, however, by the entrance of newly dead souls to the throne room, and then it is time for judgement.

Here is another place where Sakusa can barely keep his eyes on the penitent. Because Atsumu flicks between masks like playing cards, discards them and puts them on like a child playing dress. He is shameless and flirtatious and frivolous and takes things too far, and Sakusa can admit to annoyance with him quite often. 

Here, however, he takes on the mantle of judge and consort with ease, is indolent and idle and intensely observing on top of his obsidian throne. Sakusa sits straight and cold, like a king, but Atsumu slouches, leans, and his gaze moves like a snake. 

He is wickedly fast, adjusting and tempering each of Sakusa’s judgements to the defendant, sometimes merciful and sometimes unyieldingly cruel. He is, in that moment, Praxidice, exacter of justice, Haides’ dread empress. 

Sakusa spares a thought that Atsumu would be very put out to be titled empress. 

There is a bare pause between the flood of souls at their feet, and Atsumu leans over to whisper in Sakusa’s ear. “Y’know, I remember something about a trio of judges doin’ all this work, not the king himself,” he says. His breath is warm on Sakusa’s ear. 

“Budget cuts,” Sakusa says, barely moving his mouth, still looking straight ahead. He’s rewarded by Atsumu’s laughter and the way it rings out like a bell in the too-large room. 

The sea of the dead- indistinct and silvery, like a sea of bioluminescent plankton- flinches back at the sound, and Sakusa wonders for a moment what they look like to them. They are towering figures to the souls, god-hood stretching them to titanic heights and casting their features into something other-worldly while they do their duties. It is not often he thinks of humans these days, and it is in quiet moments near sleep that he worries that, in ascending, his own humanity has been stripped entirely away. These thoughts, however, are not often, and not relevant to the now, when he needs the distance and clarity of god-hood to do his job.

Sakusa looks at Atsumu out of the corner of his eye, sees the bronze cast of his hair and the diamond bright glimmer of his eyes, the way his laugh is merciless, the shift of muscle beneath tan skin like a panther. 

For the first time he can remember, the king of hell lets a slow smile touch one corner of his mouth in the court room.

* * *

And so they continue like this, with Atsumu shifting and changing like a stuttering film, with Sakusa there, fascinated, to catalogue his every frame. 

“Equinox is in three days,” Atsumu says one night, when they are ensconced in Sakusa’s private chambers as has become their wont. Atsumu will wander by in the evening, usually with some bottle or another-

“I’m actually pretty good at this,” he says, bemused, hefting a wine that is dark like rubies, or is pale pink like rose quartz, “though I had Tendou do the actual bottling and fermeting.”

-and they will sit for a few hours and talk. Sakusa will answer questions about god-hood, or Atsumu will tell stories of himself and his brother, or Sakusa will occasionally be cajoled into weaving stories of his early reign of the lower-world. 

Tonight, however, Sakusa swirls the wine in his glass. It is nearly purple tonight, so dark it looks black unless held up to candle light. “Yes,” he says, quietly. There is a pause, and Sakusa looks up to see Atsumu frowning down at his own glass. 

“Would you like to go?” Sakusa asks, and Atsumu looks up in surprise. 

“With you?” Atsumu says, face a little more open than Sakusa thinks he’d perhaps like it to be. 

Sakusa hadn’t meant it like that, but he can’t say anything else to the hope badly hidden in Atsumu’s eyes. “Yes,” he says. “It is, as you say, one of our holidays.” 

Atsumu smiles when Sakusa says ‘our’, and it makes Sakusa frown and his ears go hot simultaneously. “I think our holidays would be spring or fall equinoxes, really,” Atsumu says casually, but he’s definitely using that damned ‘our’ on purpose now. “But I’d still like to go. With you,” he adds on, as though that weren’t obvious.

“Alright,” Sakusa says, and Atsumu changes the subject, lets Sakusa’s blush cool in peace, but for the rest of the night Sakusa spies a small, private smile catching the edges of his mouth.

* * *

The night of, Sakusa hesitates in his chambers. This is not an unusual state of affairs- Sakusa hesitates, and thinks about, and analyzes more often than is probably healthy on many things. 

He is staring down at the low table in his chambers, a king’s ransom of glittering, precious things spread out on the wood so thickly the wood is hidden under gold and gems. It is the winter equinox, and it would be- traditional. To give Atsumu something. 

He is Dís, Plouton, the god whose streams flow with gold, and he has many things to give. The impulse to drape Atsumu in precious metal and gold is something he deals with daily. 

But he remembers the thick silver cuffs, almost shackles that Atsumu wore when they first met, and he hesitates. Would it be better to find flowers, find something alive and fragile to give him? Something not so…Sakusa winces. Something that isn’t so reminiscent of putting up a neon sign, one that says ‘keep away’. Or ‘beware of dog.’

There is a knock on the door, and Sakusa startles. When he opens it, it is not Atsumu as he expects, but rather Komori, looking amused. 

“I have a gift for you,” he says. “From your consort.”

Sakusa reaches out and gently picks up a crown, twisted together rosemary and wheat and asphodel. He swallows. 

“Hell of a gift,” Komori says, quiet. 

“Do you mind playing messenger again?” Sakusa asks, mouth dry. 

Komori shakes his head, and Sakusa steps back into his chambers again. Once he finds a properly sized jewelry box, he picks up what he had wanted to send and presses the package into Komori’s hands. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Of course,” Komori nods, “I’ll see you tonight.”

Sakusa watches him leave on winged feet and turns back in to his own chambers. He still needs to get ready himself.

* * *

When Sakusa meets Atsumu in the throne room to await Hinata to ferry them to Olympus, the first thing he notices is Atsumu’s deep look of satisfaction. His eyes are fixed to the crown on Sakusa’s head, the pale flowering asphodel peeking through his curls and the wheat pale gold. Without the usual diadem he wears to hold back his hair, Sakusa’s curls spill past his forehead and around his ears. 

The second thing that he sees is that Atsumu is draped in gold, and it satisfies something deep in his chest. 

His chiton is draped only over one shoulder, a plain, snowy white and is fastened with six gold fibulae. There is gold on his fingers and in his ears, rock crystal bracelets high on his arms, a diadem crowning his head- but nothing is closed, everything open and wrapped around but not locked. 

“Yer making me look bad, Omi,” Atsumu drawls, and Sakusa finally moves from his place by the door. “I only sent you one little thing, and you sent me-“

“What you deserve,” Sakusa says firmly, and has the pleasure of watching Atsumu’s eyes go wide. Sakusa tracks the progress of the pink blush on his cheeks with some fascination- it’s rare that the tables are switched as such. 

“Hello hello!” A cheerful voice calls.

“Sho!” Atsumu says, face lighting up. 

For a moment, there is a harsh spike of jealousy straight to Sakusa’s heart. Then Atsumu looks back at him, a grin splitting his face, and Sakusa lets a corner of his mouth tick up in return. Atsumu’s face just gets brighter. 

“Hiya, ‘Tsumu! How are you, Sakusa?” Hinata says. He’s grinning, his wide traveler’s hat tipped back on his head. 

“Well, thank you, Hinata,” Sakusa says, and watches Hinata’s eyes flick between the two of them. 

“Looks like it,” is all he says, cheerful, and then gestures them foreward. “You ready to go?”

When they step forward, Hinata taps his herald’s staff on the ground, hard, and starlight seems to spread outward from where he hit the floor. 

“So how come you cracked open the floor when you were running away from me last time?” Atsumu asks. 

“I can get to the underworld no matter where I am- I wasn’t _running away_ ,” Sakusa says as they step through the passage. “It’s just faster when Hinata does it this way, with the trappings of rank.”

“Neat, huh?” Hinata says, and they step out onto the marble floors of Olympus. They’re just outside the plaza, candlelight and laughter spilling out into the dark. “You were my last pick up,” he doffs his hat to the two of them, and tosses it to the side. It warps and disappears before it hits the ground. “Enjoy the party! I’ll come find you later, I want to go find Kageyama real quick,” and then he darts through the columns, into the light of the party. 

“He’s so fast,” Atsumu marvels, a laugh in his voice. “Is he always with Kageyama?”

Sakusa nods. “Yes, pretty much.”

Just before they enter, Atsumu slides a glance at Sakusa. “Y’ever think it’s funny, how many gay couples there are on Olympus?”

Sakusa favors him with the most withering glance he can. “We’re _greek_ , Atsumu,” and they enter the party with Atsumu’s laughter roaring in Sakusa’s ears. 

Sakusa loses Atsumu quite quickly, after he lays a hand on Sakusa’s arm and tells him he’s going to find Osamu. Bokuto and Akaashi find him only moments after that, and Sakusa is instantly worried by the uncharacteristically serious look on Bokuto’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Sakusa says, drawing them both aside. 

“Theseus,” Akaashi sighs, rolled their eyes. 

“He’s a fool,” Bokuto agrees, his face set into a frown. “But I’m afraid we’re not in this bit, you know?”

“And I am?” Sakusa asks, eyebrows drawing together. 

“Have you ever heard the name Peirithous?” Akaashi asks. 

Sakusa shakes his head. “No, that doesn’t ring a bell.”

“It’s not well known,” Akaashi admits. They touch their nose briefly, a holdover habit from when they were mortal and, presumably, wore glasses. “But Theseus and this Peirithous will be coming to your house, Sakusa, for rather shameful reasons.” 

“What?” Sakusa says, his head beginning to ache. “What reasons?”

“To bear away your wife, of course,” Akaashi says, giving him a humorless half smile. 

“Ridiculous,” Sakusa says. 

Akaashi shrugs one bare shoulder. “Yes, well. No one likes to have unexpected guests, yes?”

“Akaashi doesn’t like Theseus much,” Bokuto says, wrapping a burly arm around their shoulders. 

“I don’t see why one would,” Akaashi says, but his eyes were dark and serious and fixed on Sakusa. “I don’t want to worry you unduly, Kiyoomi, but I don’t want you to go in blind.”

“When?” Sakusa asks, and thinks about Atsumu walking in to the throne room, dirt on his feet. Komori had done a thorough sweep of the perimeter- Sakusa had not asked how- and spoken to Charon. Nothing had seemed out of place, but-

“Not now,” Bokuto says, the set of his shoulders relaxing now that this uncomfortable business is out of the way. “But soon. Within the year, we think.”

“Thank you,” Sakusa says, bowing his head to the rulers of the gods. 

Bokuto waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t think it’ll come to anything.”

Sakusa watches them walk away, greet Oikawa, disappear into the crowd, and worries. 

“What’d they want?” A voice comes from behind him, and Sakusa turns to see Atsumu at his elbow, looking at him with curious eyes. 

“Nothing,” Sakusa says, and offers him that elbow. Atsumu’s pleased look of surprise eases the tightness in his chest, as does the way Atsumu takes it easily. 

He hopes that he is not lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, updating the chapter count shamefully: damnit, i TOLD y'all. 
> 
> maybe it'll be four! maybe it'll be five! i don't know, stuff keeps HAPPENING!!
> 
> wheat and asphodel are symbols of the underworld and persephone, and rosemary is for loyalty and fidelity- it's also often used by brides in their bouquet. 
> 
> [atsumu is wearing this diadem](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/254978)
> 
> [the rest of his jewelry is from this set and i'm OBSESSED with these rock crystal bracelets and furious they're like 3000 years old. ](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/256975)
> 
> [you can find me on twitter, where i'm very active.](https://twitter.com/ohwickedsoul)
> 
> stay safe, stay healthy, be good


	4. Chapter 4

The next few weeks pass interminably for Sakusa. 

He wants to fight shadows, snap at everyone who crosses his path, as his dread mounts. Atsumu gives him long, frowning looks, and actively tempers Sakusa’s judgements in the court rooms. 

The swarms of souls whisper his name, calling him merciful, as Haides stretches about them, angry and terrible and inhuman. 

“There’s something wrong,” Komori says to Sakusa as he sweeps out of the court room. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about,” Sakusa says, and his shoulders are straight, collarbones like knives underneath his robe. Komori eyes the shades clinging permanently to the folds of his robe, to the green fire that licks around his feet, and says nothing. 

One night, Atsumu comes to his quarters, as has become tradition. He lets himself in after he knocks, and Sakusa does not move from his seat at his table. 

It’s wide, made of petrified wood, more stone than living thing. It’s covered in paper, from papyrus to vellum, and the greek letters on the scroll in front of him are blurring in front of Sakusa’s eyes. 

His head aches. The candles lit on his desk are too much light, even as dim as they are. 

“Stop,” Atsumu says, tugging insistently at the back of Sakusa’s robe. “I got here like, ten minutes ago and you have not paid me half the attention I deserve.” 

Sakusa rolls his eyes, but he stands from the desk, stretches till his vertebrae crack. When he rolls his neck to look at Atsumu, he’s stretched out on a chaise with glass in hand, unabashedly watching Sakusa. It makes Sakusa’s blood run heavy to his cheeks, and he hastens to pick up his own glass, looking for something to do with his hands. 

They are at some strange detente. Even now, Sakusa can pick out the gold on Atsumu’s fingers and in his ears as bounty that he has given him. Marks of ownership, and possession curls in his chest. 

There is- hesitance, however. Sakusa picks apart every conversation, his mind whirling and anxious and- scared. He does not want to be the one to strip Atsumu’s choice from him, does not want the ghosts of the past convince him that this is something that must be done.

It sits like acid in his stomach and he dissects his own feelings under microscopes and bright lights, swallowing bile. Every smile that he coaxes from Atsumu feels like a Pyrrhic victory. 

“Will you tell me what’s got you so on edge?” Atsumu says, looking not at Sakusa but into his cup.

“More myth,” Sakusa says, honest for a moment.

Atsumu raises his eyebrows, raises his gaze to meet Sakusa’s. “What kind?”

“The kind I don’t like,” Sakusa admits. “Heroes.”

Atsumu laughs. “Ah, fuck ‘em. They can’t be that bad?”

“They’re obnoxious,” Sakusa says, his lip curling. “And they’re…entitled.” 

_They’re coming to bear away your wife_ , Akaashi’s voice sounds in his head, and for the first time, Sakusa thinks, _What if he wants to go?_

“Hey,” Atsumu says. “Where’d you go?” His voice is a little softer than Sakusa is used to, when the norm is brash and loud and sure. Atsumu’s mouth has a smear of wine across his lower lip, sheer color. 

The thought of him leaving-

“Do you think this is real?” Sakusa says, suddenly. 

“What’d ya mean?”

“Do you think-“ Sakusa struggles for a moment, and takes the coward’s way out. “I worry. About falling into a rut of myth and not being able to get out. About- choice.”

Atsumu’s mouth twists. “I think I know myself,” he says, quietly. “And what I want to do.”

Sakusa cannot stop watching his mouth, cannot tear himself away. “And what do you want to do?”

Atsumu puts his wine glass down, stands from his chaise. He crosses the distance between them in a step, puts a hand on the back of Sakusa’s chaise, boxes him in with an arm and the wall. 

Atsumu leans in, and Sakusa does not, but he wraps a hand around Atsumu’s bicep anyway.

When their mouths meet, Sakusa’s spine seems to light up with ice and lightning, something bright and different from the dark, oppressive heat of the underworld. Atsumu is eager and presses into his mouth, follows Sakusa as he relaxes into the chaise without breaking the kiss. 

There’s a hand on his cheek, a thumb swiping across the bone, and Sakusa tilts his head back, lets Atsumu get a knee up on the chaise. Sakusa gets a hand around the back of his neck, pulls him down, the other clamped down on one bare arm. 

A break, a gasp for air, something electric in the moment-

And then Atsumu’s arm, locked and keeping him hovering above Sakusa goes weak for a moment, and his whole body dips. Sakusa moves fast, hauls him up with hands on his shoulders. 

He stares, horrified, into Atsumu’s glazed over eyes. 

The memory only lasts a second- barely a moment- but it’s enough to have the first frost of excitement turn into whiteout conditions. Atsumu’s eyes clear. They blink, and their lashes are long and thick, jasper-feldspar-tiger’s eye, and Sakusa’s stomach drops out, ice-water in his veins. 

Atsumu leans in an inch, their bodes still pressed together. 

“I can’t,” Sakusa says, pushing himself away, wide-eyed. His hands flutter for a moment, desperate for something to grasp on to, to shove himself farther from Atsumu. “I can’t, you-“

“What?” Atsumu says, brow furrowing. His mouth is red and wet, and Sakusa cannot seem to stop staring at it. 

“Get out,” he says, and he can hear how high-pitched his voice is. 

“Omi-“

“ _Out_ ,” Sakusa says, and in his panic, puts power behind it. Atsumu jerks back, mouth open. He scrambles up and in another moment is slamming the door behind him. 

It reverberates more than it should, the walls of the lower-world shaking.

Sakusa lowers his head into his hands and he, too, shakes.

* * *

The days pass, and in the dismal plains darkness spreads. 

Komori doesn’t bother to ask what he did, just watches Atsumu and Sakusa with dark eyes, the wings on his heels fluttering. 

Sakusa can feel something coming, coiling in his gut like a storm cloud, and he waits. 

Atsumu does not come to his rooms, and Sakusa marks every wayward glance toward the stalactite ridden ceiling, every flicker of eyes toward the world above dread Acherontis. 

When the dam breaks, it does so on light feet and with echoing voices. 

Through the deep shades of the pool which none recrosses, Theseus and Perithous come. 

“Sakusa,” Komroi says, darting into the throne room on light feet. He’s not breathless, but close. “There’s-“

“I know,” Sakusa says. “I know.”

Atsumu, at the foot of the dais, shoots a sharp look up at Sakusa. “What’s happening?” 

“Intruders,” Komori says, and he comes to the foot of the dais as well. “Lord-“ he says, and the title makes Sakusa want to bristle. 

“I _know_ ,” he says again. Stays seated in his throne. “Komori, leave us, please.”

Komori glares at him, and for a moment Sakusa thinks he won’t. Will stay and witness Sakusa-

But he doesn’t, though the slant of his shoulders is eloquent as he leaves the throne room with stilted steps.

“Sakusa,” Atsumu says sharply. The sound of Sakusa’s name in his mouth for the first time in days makes Sakusa’s chest ache. “What do you _mean_ , intruders?”

“Not as such,” Sakusa says. He sits, almost slumped in his throne the way he never is. Head propped up on one hand, almost covering his eyes. “It’s- a way out. If you want it.”

“What?” Atsumu’s voice is very, very soft, but it seems to echo in the quiet of the throne. 

The quiet does not last, as the doors bang open and two mortal men nearly fall into the throne room of the infernal emperor. Well. Sakusa says mortal- Theseus has the more solid look that Demi-gods do, where the fully mortal Peirithous is insubstantial, wavering like steam and shadow. 

Theseus is inconsequential to the myth, however, and Sakusa has never been fond of him. With a wave, Sakusa banishes him to the lowest cave, beneath Tartarus, where Cerberus makes his bed. Let him find his way out of that. Peirithous makes a sort of squeaking noise next to him, and bravado drains out of him, butter under the hot knife of omnipotence. Sakusa ignores him, however- he’s not important, really, just a symbol, a minor marker, in what he’s offering Atsumu. 

Atsumu doesn’t even look at the mortal man cowering in the throne room, his gaze focused on Sakusa, heating up with something that Sakusa can’t identify, not yet.

“I do not want you to be trapped down here in the infernal dark forever,” Sakusa says. He turns his head- he can’t look at Atsumu. “If you don’t- if we’re being unduly influenced-“ 

He looks up again at Atsumu, miserable and hopeless. “I’m giving you an _out_. I cannot- not if this isn’t real, Atsumu. I cannot do that to you.”

“Are you _serious_?” Atsumu says, and Sakusa realizes, belatedly, that he has never seen Atsumu angry. Has seen him frustrated, and sniping, and annoyed, and aggravated. 

He has never seen him furious, incandescent with anger. 

He is jaw-droppingly, terrifyingly gorgeous. 

“Has this meant _nothing_ to you?” Atsumu hisses. “Do you think so little of me that you believe I don’t know my own mind?”

“Atsumu,” Sakusa says, a little desperately, “I-“

“You absolute _fool_ ,” Atsumu says, and his fury shakes the lower-world. 

“I should go,” Peirithous says. Sakusa had honestly forgotten he was there. He whips his head around and glares at him, pins him with his stare. 

“You will not be going anywhere,” Sakusa says, and he can see the way the thunder in his voice freezes the mortal man. 

He returns his attention back to Atsumu. “Did you mean to give me to this, this madcap suitor?” Atsumu says incredulously, waving a hand at the shaking mortal pressed against the wall. 

Something in Sakusa’s heart cracks open at the sheer disdain in his voice, the obvious derision against the mortal, the human, the man- something that marks Atsumu in a way deeper than any magic could. The same ichor flows through both their veins, and stains them black and gold with godhood.

“No,” Sakusa says, sinking back into his throne, still staring at Atsumu. “An out only, an escape route. To give- never. Never.”

“You think I seek adultery?” Atsumu demands, advancing on him. “An unlawful bed?”

Sakusa grits his teeth. These are old words, old worlds. “No,” he says heavily. “No, honor’d light. The holy rites are yours.”

“I stayed in the cave of Atthis,” Atsumu says, his eyes ablaze. “I came through the wide and dismal caves of hell, I hold the furies fast, I gave you wheat and asphodel and rosemary, I rule at your _side_ , and yet you disrespect me by saying I don’t know my own mind?”

He is awful in this moment, teeth bared and hair gold and lovely, ruler of the dark world, entirely himself, and Chaos re-echoes the outcries of his grief. 

Sakusa loves him in this moment, despite himself, _because_ he is so himself, the feeling entirely his own, suddenly and terribly. 

He stands up, suddenly, out of his throne. Descends the stairs. Atsumu doesn’t move an inch, stands tall and glaring and contemptuous. When Sakusa makes it down to him, Atsumu has to tilt his chin- just a little- in order to look Sakusa in the eyes. 

Sakusa holds his gaze for a long moment, and then does something he hasn’t done since he became king. 

Sakusa kneels at Atsumu’s feet, and bows his head. 

From above him, he hears only silence. 

“Forgive me,” he says, kneeling in his own throne room. The black marble is cold on his knees. “Forgive me.”

A long moment passes, and then a gusty sigh. “Oh, get up,” Atsumu says. He sounds annoyed, but his voice is no longer an echo-chamber. Sakusa looks up, and Atsumu has one corner of his mouth quirked down in a frown. He offers him a hand. 

Sakusa takes it. 

When he comes to his feet, Atsumu’s mouth twists. It looks like he’s trying not to smile. “You’re so dramatic. Honor’d light?” He says. 

Sakusa flushes. “It’s traditional,” he argues. “You were throwing all the old ones at me.”

Atsumu glowers, and Sakusa revels in the open expression on his face. “Because you’re a fucking idiot,” Atsumu snaps. “Sometimes I feel like it’s the only thing you take seriously,” he complains, and then his eyes unfocus. 

Sakusa gets a hand on his upper arm, and lets Atsumu breathe through the memory. He blinks, and his eyes are sharp again, brown like rich earth. The tidal wave of uncertainty and fear crashes through his chest again, and Sakusa- Sakusa holds fast to the image of Atsumu, just moments ago, gold and fury and fire, asking Sakusa if he thought he didn’t know his own self. “Anything of note?” Sakusa asks. 

Atsumu makes a face. “You really are taller than me in almost every reality,” he says. “And the guy behind us is a _dick_.”

As one, they turn to the mortal who is still pressed against the walls of their throne room. Sakusa’s hand starts to slide down Atsumu’s arm, and then pauses. After a moment of hesitation, he tangles their fingers together. “Akaashi doesn’t like him,” Atsumu says nonchalantly, but his fingers tighten around Sakusa’s. 

“That’s quite a blow,” Sakusa agrees. “They don’t like Theseus either.” 

“Where’d you put him, anyway?”

“Somewhere below,” Sakusa says vaguely. “One of the caves, I believe.”

“What’s traditional, in this instance?” Atsumu asks, almost idly. 

“It’s quite cruel,” Sakusa says. “Unforgiving.”

“Well,” Atsumu says, another awful smile curling his mouth. “They did attempt to rob the great king of the lower-world.”

* * *

It is much later. Atsumu is again in Sakusa’s apartment, pouring wine. As Sakusa watches, he sets the bottle down. He doesn’t turn, however, just stays standing over the side board, head bent. 

Sakusa crosses the room to him, presses a hand into his shoulder. “What is it?” He says, more gently than he thought himself capable of. 

“Did you mean it?” Atsumu says, and his voice is tight and very controlled. Sakusa notices now, the way he grips the edge of the sideboard. The way his shoulders hunch around his ears, the vertebrae of his spin curled over. When he turns his head, just a little, just enough for Atsumu to look at him with one dark eye, Sakusa is struck dumb by how fearful his expression is. Terrified, not terrible. “That the holy rites are mine?”

Sakusa swallows. “Yes,” He says, through dry throat, into the quiet privacy of the chambers. “I did. They’re yours, as long as you want them.”

A shudder works its way through Atsumu’s frame, and he straightens, rolls his shoulders back. “I can’t- You can’t try to give me away again. I’m not entirely sure we can get divorced, you know,” he says, but his voice cracks. 

“Atsumu, I wouldn’t let you go even if they demanded it,” Sakusa says, surprises himself with the urgency of his voice, low as it is. “I- I feared for your agency, for your right, of undue influence, and I was wrong. I-“ he swallows. “If they stripped away my godhood, the ichor in my veins, I would still keep you tethered to me with the earth’s stable roots as long as you allowed me the honor. Yours is the only word that would move me. I will not doubt you again. ”

Atsumu’s eyes go wide. “Jesus, Kiyoomi,” he says. “When’d ya learn to talk pretty like that?”

Sakusa chokes out a laugh at his words, and Atsumu’s face opens up further, blooms like a flower, and now he’s smiling. “Took me long enough to get ya to laugh,” he says, quiet. 

When Atsumu leans in to kiss him again, this time Sakusa meets him halfway. This time, Atsumu’s hands are hesitant and soft on Sakusa’s cheek, the collar of his robe, while Sakusa’s are sure and near-desperate, tugging him in by the curve of his waist, cupping the back of his head. 

“I swear,” Sakusa breathes into the space between their mouths, minuscule and galactic. “I call you holy in every language I know, guide of flowing souls, I-“

“Kiyoomi, shut _up_ ,” Atsumu laughs, tugs him ever closer. “God, for one who was so worried about tradition you really like the classics, huh?” 

Sakusa can feel the upturn of his smile against his mouth, and he thinks it sacred in a way that the rest of this twice-damned life has never been.

* * *

“How’d it go?” Akaashi says. It is spring solstice. Atsumu is supposed to be paying his respects to Ushijima. Akaashi and Sakusa stand a little apart from the rest of the riotous crowd. They’re absent of Bokuto, for once, who is currently waving his arms at a wide-eyed Yachi. She’s got Alisa and Saeko flanking her, however, and so she’s- well, she’ll be fine in the end is all that matters.

“Hm?” Sakusa says, tearing his gaze away from where Atsumu has an arm slung around his brother, decidedly not providing tithe to Demeter. Their heads together are precious metals, silver and gold.

“With Theseus,” Akaashi says, keeping an eye on Bokuto. 

“Ah,” Sakusa looks at his fingernails, purses his lips. “Maybe he got lost.”

Akaashi lets a smile creep onto their beautiful face, their slate blue eyes incredibly satisfied. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Mm,” Sakusa says, and then Atsumu is sauntering over to them, draping himself around Sakusa, hooking his chin over his shoulder. 

“What’s goin’ on?” He asks. 

“Theseus?” Akaashi asks blandly.

“Never heard of ‘em.” Atsumu says cheerfully. “Omi, come bother Osamu with me. It’s unfair that he has Suga on his side by default.”

“You need to at least say hello to Ushijima, at least _pretend_ you respect the myths,” Sakusa says, sighing, and Atsumu makes a loud scoffing noise, rolls his eyes. Kiyoko stands next to Osamu, looking ethereal and vaguely unimpressed, while Suga bounces on the balls of his feet, grinning widely. Sakusa bows his head respectfully at Akaashi, and lets himself be towed away by Atsumu, who is already bawling at his brother. 

Their hands, linked together, flash with stone and glittering diamond even here, dripping with the fruits of Acherontis.

In their domain, in the dark lower-world with its echoing halls, they shine like stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. 
> 
> i'm blown away by the support this weird little story had got, and i really hope that you like the ending! i had certain things i wanted to hit with this and so i hope it's satisfactory. 
> 
> first let me say any particularly beautiful epithet or turn of phrase i probably cannot take credit for- i pulled heavily from several classical sources, including Hesiod, Seneca, Homeric Hymns, and the Orphic Hymns.
> 
> [This is where I grab a lot of my epithets](https://www.hellenicgods.org/orphichymnindex)  
> [Here's a generally amazing website for fragments](https://www.theoi.com/)  
> [and here's a gdrive link for Hymns of Orphefs.](https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B5oS3sKmDYfwcUdIbGVxdElXSWM/view)
> 
> [as always, you can find me on twitter where i would LOVE to talk more about this verse, i have a LIST of characters and corresponding deities most of whom did not make it in. ](https://twitter.com/ohwickedsoul)
> 
> thanks again! stay healthy, stay safe, be good.


End file.
